


Crisis Always Brings the Family Together

by curliestFry



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Fix-it, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Season/Series 04, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, SERIOUSLY DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED S4, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curliestFry/pseuds/curliestFry
Summary: Post Season 4, Ep. 10 "Who's Da New King of Hell?" So, like, don't read this unless you've finished the whole season. AU approximation of Season 5 based on current situation of the characters, because damn if I don't just want to make things better. Not good! I'm no saint myself.Summary in this notes for the sake of courtesy, at least for a little while.





	1. My Head Hurts Like Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Lucifer is stuck in Hell, with no other choice but to rule and keep the demonic population at bay. Everyone, namely Chloe, is utterly destroyed. But that's the thing about righteous anger and grief- it tends to be extremely productive if wielded properly. 
> 
> Lucifer has made a little family for himself on Earth, and they intend to make things whole again.

The sound of roosting pigeons and honking horns stir Chloe out of sleep.

 

God, her head hurts. Light shines behind her eyelids, silently threatening to pierce her vision the second she opens her eyes. Eventually the detective finds a compromise, covering her head with a silk sheet before letting them open fully. Fuck, her breath absolutely reeks, with a thick film over the roof of her mouth to boot. Her outfit is precisely the same as she was in the day before, save for her socks that are missing, despite her view under the covers-- Lucifer's covers, because she didn't leave the penthouse. 

 

Memory of the night she had doesn't filter in so much as flood her mind all at once. Lucifer's leaving, her phone call to Maze and work to ask for a personal day, a lot of crying and screaming. The smell of alcohol and pot cling to her still, a rather disgusting reminder of how she coped with her grief. She's not ashamed of herself, per se, but this headache has her a little regretful of just how _much_ she jumped into vices. Hell, she hadn't smoked up since before she joined the LAPD, nearly a decade ago. 

 

Hell. Right.

 

Groaning, Chloe opts to turn away from the windows and claw her way out of bed, still squinting at the bright light of day but not subjected to it head-on. The floor is freezing on her bare feet as she patters to the master bathroom. At least the essential oils Lucifer keeps on the back of the toilet deterred the smell of vomit from her last trip in here. Puking sobered her up some, enough for her to eventually choose to stop drowning in liquor and sleep. Silver linings, right? 

 

The penthouse has hosted her enough that she navigates the bathroom with surprising ease, despite the hangover. There's a wicker basket on a small table full of travel-sized toiletries: freebies for Lucifer's sexual partners to use for their hygiene needs, from deodorant to tampons to douche. It's something that she first heard from interviewing his hookups, a surprisingly courteous gesture that most of the men and women noted as a highlight during their time with him. Her fingers close over a throwaway toothbrush. 

 

Looking at herself in the mirror is certainly a moment for reflection. Her hair is wildly tangled, her face is sticky with tears and snot, and chocolate persists in the corners of her mouth from her drunken and stoned meanderings through Lucifer's pantry. She sighs, wiping the crust from her eyes, and undresses to take a shower.

Well, her clothes are absolutely out of the question to wear again. Darting back into the bedroom, Chloe finds her phone on the nightstand, not plugged in. It's still alive though, thank goodness, and she immediately sends a text to Maze. Hopefully she hasn't put her phone on Do Not Disturb to sleep in until one in the afternoon. Again.

 

_Hey. Could you bring a spare set of clothes to the penthouse?_

 

Shockingly, it only takes the demoness a couple of minutes to answer, phone vibrating on the quartz countertop of the vanity while the detective brushes her teeth. _That fucked up huh?_ Then, a beat later, _Sure but theres some shit of mine there too if thats easier._

 

_J **ust my clothes. Please.**_

 

_Ok well trix is gonna have to come with me, so like_

_If you dont want her to know youve been smashed all night maybe clean up_

_Its cool if not tho i told her whats up, kinda. Like the best i could that wasnt about hell or w/e_

 

To her surprise, Maze telling Trixie that Lucifer is gone is a huge relief. The burden of trying to explain things is no longer on her shoulders, one less thing to worry about. Her grief and sorrow doesn't need to be kept under wraps from her daughter, and she doesn't need to make excuses. She'll have to with work, and Lux, but that's something for another day. Today she's just going to worry about herself. **_Thanks. I'm thinking of telling her everything, later. And Dan and Ella. I dunno if I have it in me to keep people in the dark anymore. Y'know?_**

 

The next response has her heart thudding with anxiety and surprise. Maze actually bothers to use correct punctuation. _Yeah. Your call Decker, I'll be with you whatever choice it is._ She knows she does it to make it clear that she's serious, and the understanding has Chloe fighting down a sob. Her eyes sting. 

 

She actually does cry during her shower. Using Lucifer's shampoo and conditioner makes the room smell like white tea and musk, and the reminder of him has tears rolling down her face, silent and washing away with the water. Still, despite how overwhelmed it makes her, she considers the idea of keeping his hair products for herself. It had crossed her mind several times the night before, to keep things of his now that he may be gone. The thought alone crushes her, but she knows that Lucifer would want his less sentimental things to be given to his friends and family. _I've no need for my Bvlgari anymore, darling_ , his voice dismisses in her head. 

 

Until Maze arrives Chloe does give in to wear Lucifer's robe as she picks up after herself. Empty glasses and plates go into the dishwasher, bags of snack food go back into the pantry or into the trash, and liquor bottles go back onto the bar. The blanket over the back of the couch is folded up again. It looks as though the housekeeper just came, and Lucifer should walk back in through the elevator at any time. She's careful with the page's of one of Lucifer's books, the pages yellow and crinkled with age. It's handwritten calligraphy; the detective peers at the words, enjoying the distraction of the task. It's a diary...Sylvia Plath's diary, if she's reading the cursive correctly. The easier reading it gets, the more depressed Chloe becomes, reading the poet's woes of disenchantment with reality, hopelessness, and chagrin at the idea of participating in society.

 

She puts the diary back.

 

Her search for new reading material is cut short when the elevator dings, and Trixie comes bounding out with Maze lagging behind, a tote over her shoulder. Her daughter bounds over, hugging her around the hips and burying her face in her ribs. "I heard Lucifer left," the girl says, into silk. "I know you care about him a lot."

 

Maze's discomfort is evident as tears well in Chloe's eyes anew. The detective pries her child away and offers a wet, quavering smile. "Thank you, monkey. I know you like him too." She sniffs, and Trixie frowns at her, worry creasing her little forehead.

 

The demoness clears her throat, and walks over with her arm outstretched, tote strings in her fist. "Here. Get changed, and I'll clear out some things in the meantime."

 

"Clear what out?" Chloe takes the bag, expression on the border of suspicious. She's too tired to do anything about Maze's antics, but at least knowing who to blame later isn't a bad idea.

 

"My shiiihh..." Maze drawls, clearing her throat as mother glares and daughter smirks. "My stuff that I've been keeping here, mostly. And the food. Even if Luce does show up again anytime soon, it's not going to be before his expensive Fresh Market cheeses expire."

 

"Oh. Alright. I'll come help in a few minutes." 

 

Chloe peels away from her housemates and heads for the bathroom again. The raw astonishment on Maze's face reminds her that the demon wants to steal, technically, and she's allowing it. But she's too frayed, and the point is too sound to argue.

 

She changes into her clothes, puts the dirty outfit (after finding her socks) in the tote, and comes back to help as Maze and Trixie load up grocery bags with goods from the refrigerator and freezer. They remembered to use a cooler, at least, with reusable bags for the non-perishables. She probably would've forgotten all of that.


	2. The Noise of the Fighting is Worse When We're Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer gets loads of religious things wrong or is outright blasphemous of Christianity, but we love it anyway, so I hope that this goes without saying: If anyone of faith is offended please don't be! Angels are prominent features across numerous faiths and to better representation I intend to use angels other than those only from Catholicism. As for their intermingling, it's just for story purposes! It's not accurate of/commentary on anyone's religion.

"I'm not a huge fan of you leaving, let me make that clear." Linda stands in the middle of the living room, her voice low. Charlie is asleep, and despite the boy sleeping through the night almost every night (the angel in him, they supposed), they aren't going to allow their conversation to wake him. "I mean, there's our _month old son_ and all. I'm not super keen on watching him alone when neither of us have a clue what he's capable of."

 

"I know." Amenadiel sighs, leaning over with his hands on the back of the couch. "If you want me to stay, I'm happy to."

 

She narrows her eyes, searching his expression for something. Apparently she finds it, because her face smooths and her shoulders sag, losing her defensive stance across from him. "That's good to know, but...no. That's not what I mean. Lucifer is my dear friend--not to mention my highest-paying patient by a long shot--and your brother. Of course I'm going to support your efforts to help him." Linda sits down on the ottoman, crossing her legs and cradling her head in one hand. 

 

He chuckles quietly. "Ah, so you need him back to help make a living, eh?"

 

"No, although I'll admit it's a bonus."

 

"Well, I'm going to do everything in my power to return him to Los Angeles." Amenadiel rounds the couch, lowering himself onto its arm and taking the human woman's hand. "But I won't forget about you, either. Rest assured, I'll return before midnight tomorrow. If I end up going back and forth, it'll only be for a day at a time."

 

Linda smiles, though her eyes don't brighten with the expression. Amenadiel has certainly gotten to know her better in the past year, and he gets the inkling that she's not talking because she's trying not to cry. She cares deeply for Lucifer. A number of people do, now that he thinks about it. Just as the angel has made a little family on Earth, so has the Devil.

 

He raises her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles, lightly. The smiles she wears widens, and he returns it easily. "Go get some sleep. I'll be back tomorrow." With that, he stands, and goes through the kitchen and living room to leave the house altogether. Locking Linda's front door behind him, Amenadiel opens his wings under the cover of night, and ascends toward the Silver City.

 

~~~

 

As usual, Heaven looks identical to the way it always has. Illuminated clouds form the ground, and past the enormous gate of stain glass lined with silver is a bustling, clean metropolitan area. Humans wander about exploring, dining, playing. There's no gambling and no money here, but competition is still just fine in the Silver City. Amenadiel passes through parks where filled tables are set up with chess, checkers, and backgammon. There's a game of cricket in one field and soccer across the way from it. Humans love to engage their minds and bodies, so Heaven provides access to anything and everything their hearts could desire as an activity. Gated portals in the City's center take eager humans to specially crafted beaches, mountain ranges, forests, and wherever they'd like to visit on Earth, if they want. It's perfect, and everyone's happy, but the angel cannot help but find it...dull. 

 

Perhaps its because he's done all there is to do, in his eons of existence. Perhaps angels can't be entertained in the way humans are. But Amenadiel suspects that those aren't the true answers.

 

He follows the wide streets to the House of Heavenly Worship, the first place where he knows one of his siblings will certainly be. It's an enormous interfaith chapel, where all of those who are keen to come to thank God for His blessings and the eternity they experience every day. There are parapets, sculptures of saints, domes, stained-glass windows, an outdoor fire temple, and minarets. It reminds him of a much more intricate Hagia Sophia, if Islam and Christianity also meshed in with Judaism, Yazidism, and Zoroastrianism. Any monotheistic faith (and Wicca, since they got the God _and_ Goddess thing right) is represented here, with the option for everyone to listen to any holy book and worship in whatever way is most comfortable.

 

The priest/pastor/imam/rabbi is his younger brother, Selaphiel, archangel of worship. He constantly leads devotions in the Silver City's church. It's one of his only duties, save for helping their Father's prophets decide how they will worship God in their respective faith. But it's been a while since that's been necessary, with the Baha'i being one of the last projects of his over 200 years ago. He has to be here, somewhere.

 

"Brother!" Amenadiel calls out into the echoing halls of the chapel, delicately treading past pews and candles. Services don't seem to be going on, which is a little strange. A few people are in quiet observance, but no congregation is in the main hall. They could be in one of the wings, he supposes.

 

When the angel turns his eyes from the dome above them, he nearly outright runs into Selaphiel. He's clad in his angelic robes, floating a few inches off of the ground with his mouth set in a hard line. Amenadiel, suddenly, finds himself self-conscious for walking.

 

"Big brother, please do not shout in here." His voice is soft, melodious, despite him clearly being pissed off. "What may I do for you?"

 

Amenadiel puts on his best warm, welcoming smile, despite the fact that he'd like to abandon this mission completely right about now. "Why, your attention, if you'll give it to me." Selaphiel's face goes blank, an arched brow raising with tepid curiosity, and he continues, "I sense there are 31 of us in the Silver City now, and I'd like to hold a meeting in which everyone is present."

 

"Really? That would be very convenient, actually." His younger brother perks up into a bright smile, teeth perfectly white.

 

It leaves Amenadiel slightly unnerved. 

 

"Oh?" he muses, straining to remain light and casual. "What do you mean, Sel?"

 

Selaphiel's smile dampens just a little, his blue and black, iridescent wings stirring the air around the two of them. Strangely, the candles nearby remain aflame regardless. "Oh, well we've all been wanting to ask a few questions! What, you thought you could father a child with a human and stay on Earth with Lucifer, and we weren't going to have any thoughts about that?"

 

~~~

 

Even though the idea is that humans within the Silver City feel free to do whatever they wish, there is an undeniable hierarchy in which angels are superior. No one seems to really mind; it's the way things are, the way things have always been.

 

Amenadiel remembers, with gnawing discomfort, how much he had enjoyed their awe and reverence. He'd loved how astounded humans were with his abilities. They were always endearingly stupid in his eyes, like infants who were easily amused. Now he feels they were his equals in intellect, determination, bravery. Seeing men and women bow and part the thoroughfares at the sight of him and Selaphiel would have, at any other time, been very satisfying, or even mandatory. But right now it only makes him tense. 

 

There's a palace for the angels gated off from humans with magic, for them to live in while they aren't carrying out whatever divine duties their Father asks of them. It's been a year since he's been home, and the grandeur of it has the angel caught off guard. After living among asphalt, brick, and steel, the gold and silver finishings and intricate tapestries on the walls feel strange and even, dare he say, excessive. The only saving grace is the sparseness of furniture, though that may be less from restraint and more because of the marble flooring throughout.

 

Selaphiel's voice echoes in the hallway, ripping Amenadiel from his musings. "Brother, you can stop humbling yourself with the walking. The humans can't see you here."

 

Was that what he thought? 

 

Amenadiel turns, waving a hand and smiling. "No, that's okay."

 

His brother's eyebrows raise to his hairline. His surprise is totally reasonable- there's no question that Amenadiel's fatal flaw has always been a matter of pride. Lucifer's called him out on his superiority complex a staggering number of times. It used to infuriate him, but now he knows that the Devil had been right. Being on Earth and being forced to face his issues head-on has worn down his assumptions that he's anyone's better.

 

There's a lyceum in the middle of the palace where debates and discussions are held between angels on various topics. Usually it's about war, or strategizing how best to carry out missions for Father, but today the topic is Amenadiel, it seems. He walks in and nods to his siblings as they sit in tiered, stone benches. Conversation wavers, and eyes turn to the eldest born with a variety of emotions behind them. Though some seem happy to see him, others are staring daggers. 

 

It appears this meeting will not be moving along quite as smoothly as he'd like. Amenadiel takes a deep breath before breaking into a grin, meeting the faces of thirty of his siblings. "Brothers, sisters! I'm overjoyed to see you again." Any remnant of conversation ceases. He keeps going, "I've called this meeting for a very important reason, but before I begin with my concerns I hear that there are queries you have for me. So lets get that out of the way first. Please, do not be shy- just, one at a time." 

 

He's not surprised when it's Zophiel who stands, directing everyone's attention. "I would just like to clarify a few rumors that have surfaced...first, is it true you fathered the new celestial we have been sensing?"

 

"Yes." The room buzzes with murmurs. Amenadiel fights the desire to flinch, the disapproval running rampant through the lyceum. "Myself and a close friend have had a son together," he explains, straightening his shoulders.

 

Zophiel frowns with his whole face. "I see. Clearly Lucifer has had a poor influence on you." The other siblings nod firmly in agreement.

 

That's not true, not even remotely, but the argument of _no, I wanted to start having intimate and sexual relations of my own volition_ isn't going to make anything better, is it. "Being on Earth longterm, learning from humanity, is a very impactful experience," the angel says instead, keeping his face carefully neutral. 

 

"But you fornicated with a demon far before any longterm stay." 

 

Amenadiel does wince at this. They're really pulling no punches. He's starting to feel like this is more like a trial, not a game of catch-up among family. "Yes, you're right. It was a poor decision, one that led to a lot of toxicity and hurt for us both."

 

That's apparently not a good answer. Those seated turn this way and that, whispering to one another with narrowed eyes. Zophiel cuts above the noise: "And yet you did not learn your lesson and break contact! The first of God's angels and Mazikeen of the Lilim are _friends_! Isn't that right?" The other angels erupt into gasps, wrinkling their noses or putting a hand to their mouths in undisguised horror. There's not time to retort, either-- Zophiel has launched into a full-on rant. "These are unspeakable deeds, brother! Between fornication with humans and demons alike, harboring our Mother on Earth, being chummy with Lucifer and enabling his antics, I cannot imagine how extensively Father should punish you. Have you the desire to fall as well?"

 

As the recordkeeper of God, he's not inaccurate in his accusations. Everything's true, and they're all right to fear for his spiritual wellbeing, but...Amenadiel isn't sorry. For hurting his friends and family, yes. For being in denial and wrongly casting blame, of course. But he cannot abide feeling shame for the life and relationships he's built, no matter how taboo. He's happy despite all of these choices, or perhaps even because of them.

 

There's no room to argue the facts. He has no case. Frustrated, fed up with appeasing his brother when all he's met with is hostility, all that's left to turn to is an emotional outburst. "But Father hasn't punished me, has He?" Amenadiel takes two steps forward, hands curled into tight fists at his sides as his voice booms through the echoing lyceum. 

 

To his surprise, Zophiel's bravado crumbles. After a moment his gaze starts to flicker back and forth, shoulders hunching and jaw clenched. As a matter of fact, everyone looks wildly uncomfortable, Amenadiel notes. They shift and stare with wide eyes. 

 

It looks almost like they're afraid.

 

The eldest angel softens, looking around with his brow furrowed. All upheld demeanor is out the window. "Is this why all of you are so upset?" he asks, returning to a normal volume. "It makes you anxious that none of my actions have brought about any repercussions?"

 

There's a pause. Finally another of his siblings stands, forcing Zophiel to sit and accommodate a different speaker. It's Mebahiah, thank Father, the one blessed with the gift of clarity and lucidity of thought, literally unable to possess bias. "We just don't understand, brother," she explains. Her tone borders on pleading. "All we've ever known is that actions like yours are wrong, and we fear angering Father. But here you are, committing these acts, yet- yet nothing has happened. It doesn't make any sense."

 

The lines in Amenadiel's face smooth out, expression gentle with his renewed understanding. "Is this true?" he asks calmly, looking between his brothers and sisters. They hesitate, then nod and murmur in quiet consensus. 

 

Anger has died in the eldest angel's veins. How can he be upset with them, when he's been wracking his mind for years as to why he lost his powers and his wings, blaming Lucifer, his Dad, humanity? Nothing and no one could soothe his frustrations then. He empathizes-- how confusing this all must seem to his younger siblings, especially when they all used to look to him for guidance.

 

After a moment of consideration, Amenadiel breaks into an amused chuckle. The other angels frown, baffled. 

 

"You know, humans experience how you're feeling all of the time. I just realized that." His siblings stare blankly, looking between one another for insight, only to come up empty and face him again. "They do! Think about it: it's so very frustrating and confusing, looking to Father for direction on what's right and what's wrong, but He hasn't given us any for quite some time. That's how the humans have lived for millennia. Even if they have religion, God does not associate with mortals, let alone counsel their behaviors. They're always completely, totally lost."

 

Soft whispers echo through the throng. Amenadiel patiently waits until it dies down, save for Hadraniel calling out, not bothering to stand. "Then...what are they supposed to do?"

 

He smiles, warm and encouraging. "They just do what they think is right." Chatter of protest and distress breaks out immediately, and Amenadiel holds out his hands, palms down, to shush them. "I know that's frightening, but I'd say that it's worked, hasn't it? Without Father's help they still regularly make it to the Silver City, after only going with their best judgment through their lifetimes. I mean, I personally know of even atheists who reside in Heaven as we speak." That shuts up even the most persistent of the angels, now listening intently. Amenadiel's confidence builds. "Isn't that something? They never once even believed in our Father's existence, let alone led their lives by His word, yet He still thinks they've earned eternity here.

 

"I know listening to what God wishes of us is what's always been. And humans deal with that too! It's a matter of tradition. They find themselves doing things even when it seems there's no point to it anymore, or what once worked isn't working now. And when that happens, they alter or drop the old rules and norms they used to hold." He pauses. His siblings seem to now be hanging on his words, and this little pep talk is edging into a full-blown speech. It's important to choose his words wisely. "It's sometimes very scary for them, especially people who are older and have only known they old ways. And that's okay! But it doesn't mean changing tactics is a bad thing just because it's different."

 

Distantly, it occurs to Amenadiel that he's finally managed to get his brothers and sisters to hear out his suspicions that angels possess self-actualization. It's a workaround, but still. 

 

The anxiety has bled out from the air in the lyceum. Now his siblings seem tense with intrigue and curiosity instead. There's trepidation, yes, but not fear. "You're saying we can make our own choices without knowing what Father will think about them, and individually judge whether we were in the right or not," Zadkiel surmises from the front row, looking rather like someone trying not to seem excited about something and failing spectacularly. He is the angel that instilled decision-making skills in humans, after all. 

 

"...I suppose I am," Amenadiel decides slowly, before smirking at the angels gathered- Zophiel in particular. "But, I mean, you've kind of already been doing that. You've been passing your own judgments upon me all evening."

 

There's a beat of thick, encumbered silence. Then the lyceum explodes with a roar of frantic, polemic conversation. 

 

Amenadiel watches his siblings debate, slack with surprise. Making a sarcastic dig seems to have been the thing he needed to get his point across, and it strikes him that, perhaps, he's been letting Lucifer rub off on him more than he'd previously thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh I had to research SO MANY ANGEL NAMES
> 
> (Psst I based Selaphiel's wing's on a spangled continga.)
> 
> So yeah, Amenadiel and Chloe will be the POV held for MOST of this fic. Lucifer too, sometimes. But not a ton. Just so you're aware!
> 
> I do have a tumblr if you want it, its whirredplay.
> 
> Edit: Sorry this next chapter is taking so long- I wrote the whole thing and then my computer updated while I had left it unsaved in a tab, because AO3 doesn't do saving work. (It was 3000 words.) I cRY.


	3. When the Adult in the Room is a Child, You Know It's Bad

Trixie is the first out of the elevator, speed-walking towards the car with Lucifer’s PS4 clutched tightly against her chest. Since the Devil had only bought the thing to piss Eve off, and he wasn’t coming back anytime soon, there’d been no sufficient argument as to why her daughter couldn’t “borrow” the console.

 

The arm raised to remotely unlock the Mustang gets grabbed at the elbow, and Chloe jumps a little. Maze is snagging her in place, brows knit together, eyes not quite keeping their focus on hers. “What is it?” the detective asks, barely managing to achieve a tone in the ballpark of interested. It’s not meant to be mean, but surely whatever she wants can wait.

 

“Sorry. It’ll be quick.” Maze looks akin to constipated, her jaw clenched, face riddled with discomfort. “I guess I’ll say I’m sorry, first. About this. Lucifer...mattered a lot to you, and it sucks that he had to leave you.”

 

Chloe blinks in surprise, before smiling fondly and plucking the demon’s hand from her elbow, squeezing it lightly in her own. “Same here. I know he matters to you, too. So did Eve.” The other scoffs, but she knows it’s bullshit.

 

“Thanks- it’s whatever.” A lie; her voice cracks. The human politely ignores it as Maze hastily, violently changes the subject. “Uh, I also wanted to just ask- away from where Trixie could hear- if you’ve gotten another roommate recently.”

 

Chagrin and embarrassment are all over her friend’s face. Feelings and talking about what make her happy are not things she’s good at, to be sure. But she is getting braver about trying.

 

“You want to move back in?” the detective guesses, eyebrows raising. Maze nods, sucking the inside of her cheek, and Chloe frowns. “I thought you liked living with Linda, where you could look after her and Charlie.”

 

Maze groans, letting her head fall back in frustration. “I do! But I have to act so stupid when I’m there: no swearing, no violent TV, quiet hours after 9 o’clock.” She leans in, whispering, “Linda wants me to put up my own money and get a _safe_ for all my weapons to stay in. Even the whips.”

 

Chloe crosses her arms. “And you think you’ll be rule-free at my apartment.”

 

“No, but I’ll be allowed to watch _The Walking Dead_ and stay up late again. And,” she winces, “I’ve kinda missed you two.” Her smile is bashful, genuine. It’s the secret side to Mazikeen that nobody’s supposed to see.

 

The human woman sighs, pursing her lips, the sole of her shoe clicking against the concrete. “I’ll think about it.” The demon brightens. “We can talk about this later, okay? Right now, I’m trying to figure out how to explain all of this to Trixie, Dan, and Ella.”

 

Maze glances from her face to the car, where her daughter is poking her head around to stare at them through the back windshield. Her expression crumples. “You wanna tell them the truth _now_?” She’s anxious. The emotion doesn’t suit her at all.

 

“Yeah. Like, tonight.” Chloe softens when the demon stiffens ever so slightly. “Trixie will be fine, I’m sure of it. It’s just Dan I’m worried about.” She puts her hand on the other’s shoulder and feels her tense, a defense mechanism she’s narrowly learned to restrain. It’s so funny, knowing her true nature, that the detective’s only fear in invading Maze’s space is that she might be uncomfortable with it.

 

She hopes her eyes are as pleading as she’d like them to be. “Could you ask Linda and Amenadiel to come over later? At, ah, seven? I’ll make dinner for everyone.”

 

Maze looks up, squinting. “Uh, I think Amenadiel’s in the Silver City today. I’ll ask Linda, though.” Free food, no matter how shitty, is probably enough to convince her. Free booze is better, but ever since learning about Everything, Chloe’s laid off the sauce a bit. It makes her panicky if she’s in the wrong mood.

 

“’Kay. Thank you. Text me what you know as soon as you can.”

 

The demon gives a sarcastic salute, spinning on her heel and heading to her own car. “Later, Decker,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice carrying in the parking garage.

 

Chloe loads her bag of Lucifer’s things into the trunk. It’s mostly food that she couldn’t usually afford: fancy cheeses, duck breasts, bread from an expensive bakery, papayas. There are a few of his button-down shirts hidden at the bottom, too, snuck away when Maze was raiding the bar.

 

When she gets in the driver’s side, Trixie immediately looks at her with suspicion, eyes narrowed, and little nose scrunched up. “What were you and Maze talking about?”

 

She decides on a half-truth, a lie by omission. Lucifer wouldn’t approve out outright deception, now would he. “She wants to talk to me later about some stuff. Between Lucifer, baby Charlie, and getting rejected, I think there’s a lot she’s upset about.”

 

“I didn’t know she was seeing somebody.” The acidity twinging on her daughter’s voice isn’t missed. She doesn’t like being left out on information, especially about a friend. She’s never seen her own age as a problem to know about anything.

 

“She wasn’t- she liked somebody, and when she asked them out they said no. It just didn’t work out, I guess.”

 

Mercifully, Trixie doesn’t seem to pick up that her mother is being vague to spare Maze’s privacy. She probably just assumes that Chloe doesn’t know who it was, or their gender.

 

She’s quiet for a second. There’s clearly some thoughtful contemplation before she speaks again, more serious and quieter. “Is that what happened with you and Lucifer?”

 

Chloe brakes harder than she’d like, any chance of nonchalance out the window. “He didn’t reject me, monkey,” she says, keeping her voice even and low. A swallow pushes down her spontaneous, immense urge to start crying.

 

“Not that.” She can feel her child stare at the side of her face, see her turn in her vision’s peripheral. “That you liked him, but it didn’t work out.”

 

Her knuckles whiten over the steering wheel. Stopping at a red light, she meets Trixie’s eyes and nods, biting her lip. “Yeah.” Her voice is choked to her own ears, and worry fills her daughter’s expression. The detective clears her throat. “I’ll explain in a little while, okay? It’s just, it’s really complicated, and I don’t feel like explaining it over and over. But I promise we’ll talk about it.” One hand leaves the wheel and opens for her to take it, which she does. Chloe squeezes her hand a few times, smiling brokenly.

 

Trixie stares at their entwined hands, lips twisted down and brow furrowed. Looking up, her words are slow, careful.

 

“Does it have to do with the stuff you were researching while we were on vacation?”

 

Chloe clearly doesn’t reign in her expression fast enough. Trixie meets her eyes, slumping back in the seat and folding her arms. It’s the stance she uses when she’s waiting to see if her mother will lie when the truth is obvious to her, obvious to everyone if they were able to just see her face. She’s a smart kid, with the deduction ability of both her police-employed parents. Even at ten, she smells bullshit a mile away.

 

Finally, the detective nods. “Yes,” she whispers.

 

The light turns green again, and the detective barely sees Trixie nod slowly. Her smaller hand pulls away from hers, and the child mutters, “Sorry. It’s just that your palm is super sweaty.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Chloe assures, lips able to tilt back up into a smile again, hand returning to the steering wheel. “You’re right, it is.”

 

Trixie giggles, and the air in the car lightens significantly. She doesn’t seem to care about this big news, sated fully from the promise of, at some point, being given the truth. Acceptance comes so much easier to children than to adults, her daughter may not even be phased by this sort of thing yet. Hell, the only reason she stopped believing in Santa last year was because she realized it was Chloe’s handwriting. She’s such an imaginative kid, what does she care if Lucifer is the Devil, Maze is a demon, and Amenadiel is an angel?

 

“Can I play my Spotify?”

 

 ~~~

 

The whole apartment smells like tomato sauce and oregano. Chloe breathes it in, hoping the homey feeling of friendly chatter and aromatic spaghetti will ease her nerves a little. Usually people enjoying her food is enough to make her overjoyed, but tonight she genuinely may throw up from nerves. If this goes badly, she may never be able to enjoy spaghetti again.

 

Trixie has been eyeing her expectantly for a while. As soon as she started making a big meal and calling her friends and family to come over, her daughter has been looking around, waiting in unusual quiet.

 

“Linda,” she whispers, stopping her friend as she goes to put the dishes in the dishwasher. “Any word from Amenadiel?”

 

The therapist shakes her head apologetically. “No. I texted him and prayed, but he hasn’t responded and, y’know. Who knows if a prayer’s ever heard, right?”

 

Chloe didn’t know someone could pray to a specific angel. She’d ask about it more, but it’s not the pressing concern right now. Later, maybe, she’ll inquire about it. “Okay. Uh. I’m not sure what to do from here, without proof from Amenadiel’s wings and everything.” She bites nervously at a hangnail on her ring finger.

 

“I’ll help. Don’t worry.” Linda smiles with reassurance, adding, “Maybe Maze can think of some way to show them.”

 

It turns out that she does, but the demon is so clearly nervous that Chloe nearly retracts her request for aid. She opens her mouth to say so when Maze insists, snorting, “I’m not a pussy, okay? It’s fine, it’s just…Amenadiel would have been a better pill to swallow.” Her fingers toy with the fake chainmail on her skirt.

 

“What’d you mean?”

 

“Angels are easier on the eyes than demons.” Maze’s shoulder hunches. The detective knows her well enough by now to spot the insecurity bubbling up in the way she looks down, mumbles a bit, the bite in her tone edging into the territory of resentment.

 

The detective frowns at her, a silent question on her face, but the demoness pushes past her into the den. "Yo. I got an announcement to make." Everyone looks up, with Ella pausing her game of Fifa and hastily setting the Playstation controller on the ottoman. Trixie meets Chloe's eyes, and realization is palpable. 

 

"So, listen. Lucifer, he...he's left Los Angeles. Had to leave, I mean. We dunno when, or if, he'll be back."

 

Dan leans back dramatically, scoffing loudly and rolling his eyes. His daughter shushes him at the exact moment that Maze spits, "Don't you say a word, Dan, I'm fucking talking." He silently relents, raising his palms in surrender, and she seemed satisfied. "He, uh. Is in Hell. Yes, that one. There's been some coworkers of mine that have gotten uppity, think they're hot shit, and started a demonic uprising. So he has to stay down there and maintain control over the situation, unless we'd all like to be mauled and killed by idiots."

 

Chloe watches and listens, so utterly riddled with anxiety that she doesn't call Maze out for swearing constantly. Her eyes rake around the room, measuring her loved ones' expressions. Trixie is looking between she and Maze with a mixture of fear and confusion that asks if this is real or not; Dan's patented blend of dismissal and anger is clearly bubbling to the surface, only slightly tamped down by Maze's warning glare; Ella seems...not fine, but not disbelieving. It looks as though something's dawned on her, actually.

 

When Maze doesn't continue, Dan jumps in immediately with a humorless smirk on his face. "Really. You _really_ expect me to accept that dog shit excuse?" The fake amusement falls into disgust. "I mean, I believe he's probably left, but you can't bear to accept that he's off abandoning his friends and job for strippers and blow? You had to play into his "I'm the Devil" schtick?" 

 

There's no yelling or throwing anything, to the detective's immense relief. What makes everyone more fearful is that Maze just snorts, cracks her neck, and takes a deep breath.

 

Chloe's standing partway behind her, so it takes a second to understand why the color drains from everyone else's faces. She takes a step to the left, tilting her head, and takes in the decay-stricken, honest-to-God demon standing in her living room. 

 

 

 


	4. The Zombie's Mascara is Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional instability is contagious.

Maze has her arms folded, like she's attempting to look defiant, but she won't meet anyone's eyes for long. Her eyes, interestingly, are the one thing about her that Chloe recognizes from her usual appearance.

 

The demoness is _green_ , like the olive from a martini. Sagging in various places, one might assume that her skin might just fall off, especially since it's all mottled with scars. Her teeth are exposed from her lower lip drooping, all craggy and sharp in a way that suggests she's been hit in the mouth, with gray gums holding them in. Maze's usually brown hair is bordering on white, matted and uneven in length. It's a weird dichotomy, seeing her frankly disgusting demon form clad in a sexy leather skirt and mesh top. 

 

"So. I'm a demon. In case that's not really obvious."

 

Dan wrenches himself upright off of the couch, pushing past his ex-wife and the doctor to the kitchen, where he unceremoniously bends over the sink to vomit. 

 

Maze turns and watches, her permanent snarl accentuated in her annoyance. "Fuck you too," she calls after him, and when she talks it doesn't look right, like her lips shouldn't be capable of making the correct sounds to speak. 

 

Other than Dan, though, everyone seems to be holding up okay. After the initial shock, Chloe's just a bit grossed out now. Linda, holding Charlie against her chest, is clearly determined not to look away despite her brows being being pinched and jaw being set with some complicated emotion. Ella, though openly aghast, seems immune to Mazikeen's gory features. Must be all of the work with dead people.

 

Trixie's interesting, though. She doesn't seem scared or disgusted, she looks...like she's recognizes something. Getting up, the girl doesn't take her eyes from Maze's face, eyes narrowed as she walks toward the demon slowly. Maze, to the detective's surprise, takes a step back. Her calves hit the chair behind her, and she makes a small noise that sounds distinctly like a growl.

 

"You said this was a Halloween costume," her daughter finally blurts, pointing a downright accusing finger at Maze's mangled face. Surprise (at least, it looks like the closest equivalent) crumples the demon's defensive expression.

 

Dan recovers from throwing up, looking over to their daughter's clear approach toward Maze, and hoarsely warns, "Trix, don't. Don't go near it."

 

Linda throws him an angry glare over her shoulder. "Not _it_. That's _Maze_."

 

"It's okay, Dan," Chloe adds, more gently. She knows she's right, that it is okay; when has Mazikeen ever allowed harm to come to their child? 

 

The demon looks at her, and though it's hard to read Chloe senses that she's grateful. Still, as if the point needs to be made more clearly anyway, Maze sits down in the armchair and stays very still as Trixie comes up to her, slow and obvious like one might with a wild animal. Chloe can hear her ex-husband muttering "God, that's Maze, holy shit" over and over behind her as he leans heavily on the countertop.

 

Finally, her daughter is standing close enough to be considered an invasion of personal space. Taking a hand out of the pocket of her hoodie, Trixie reaches up and pushes at Maze's lower lip, trying to get it to meet its partner above, only for it to fall limp again after taking her finger away. She giggles, high and a little nervous. "Ew. Why won't your mouth stay closed?"

 

Maze visibly relaxes, smiling wide to bear more crooked teeth and fangs. "I dunno," she admits, shrugging a little. "I've never been able to figure it out." Then she hunches up, exhales a shaky breath, and begins to sob.

 

The air goes tight and thick with everyone's positively massive discomfort. Chloe has heard from Amenadiel and Lucifer that their demon friend has burst into tears during moments of extreme frustration, but the therapist is the only human among them that has seen Maze look so broken and raw.

 

The tears are jet black and shine like crude oil as they run down her face. Trixie retreats back a half-step, and the demon quickly sniffs, wiping her face, and chokes out, "Sorry, I-"

 

Linda jumps into action. Passing her son into Chloe's arms, she strides over and crouches in front of Maze. Taking a green, clawed hand, she offers a comforting smile up to her friend. "Don't apologize. It's okay." Maze nods a bit, and Linda continues, "I know this might be very overwhelming-"

 

"Uh huh."

 

"And you haven't shown anyone before, have you?" The demon shakes her head, a few hairs sticking to her cheek with the motion. Linda pushes them back behind her ear--which has a visible bite taken out of the shell--and Maze _trembles_.

 

Trixie gingerly pats Maze on the thigh, unsure of how to deal with an adult that's crying. "Yeah, we still like you. You look badass like this, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" 

 

Dan clears his throat, making their daughter whip around with a sheepish expression for cursing, but he doesn't comment on it. "Sorry about...y'know, puking." Maze looks at him, and he glances away. "It's the shock, I think."

 

"Nah, it's all good." Maze chuckles, and her throat gurgles a little. "I know I look rough. It's a way to intimidate one's opponents so that you can get the upper hand in a fight."

 

Ella, who's been silent up to now, asks, "Opponents? Who're you fighting?" Her voice is a squeak, hand clutched tightly around the cross pendant of her necklace. The detective recognizes her expression: it's what she wears when she's deciding between theories to follow in a case. What with her religious background, Ella might be trying to determine whether or not she's going to lose her shit or not.

 

"Oh!" The topic of combat lightens Maze's mood a great deal. Scrubbing her face with her forearm, the demon sniffs, and when she takes her arm away it's regular Maze again. Her eye makeup and black tears are smeared all over her wrist and russet face, but nobody says anything about it. Chloe suspects that she doesn't even know she's back to normal. "Um, other demons. We have duels for territory in Hell. Sometimes with weapons, mostly without."

 

Ella nods, eyes looking into somewhere in the middle distance. "That's never come up in church before," she breathes. Maze nods, very seriously, and "Mm-hm"'s her lack of surprise.

 

"Wait." The detective feels Dan tense as he drags out a bar stool beside her to sit on. "If you...you're a legit-ass demon." 

 

Maze grins, smug. "My ass is legit, thank you."

 

 Dan must be truly shaken, because he doesn't even muster a retort or eye roll to the demon's innuendos. "If you're a demon," he continues seamlessly, and Maze pouts at being ignored, "then Lucifer...is he really...?"

 

Linda, Chloe, and Maze answer at the same time. "The Devil."

 

Her ex drags his hands into his hair and tugs, face suddenly awash with obvious panic and understanding. It looks as though his life is flashing before his eyes, pale and sweaty, mouth open ever so slightly.

 

"God- uh-" Ella hesitates, licking her lips while her eyes dart around frantically. "Sorry, Big Guy, um... _I'm such an idiot_!" Her yelling startles everyone and causes Charlie to fuss in Chloe's arms. Ella looks at the baby apologetically, and drops down to normal-for-Ella volume as she continues to ramble. "Lucifer doesn't lie! He keeps secrets, but he doesn't lie, and he's been calling himself the Devil since the week I joined the force! Why didn't I realize it sooner?!"

 

"It's not your fault." The detective smiles, weaving through her loved ones to sit beside Ella on the couch. "You're a woman of science, like me."

 

"But I believe in God!" she whisper-shouts. Her expression is riddled with guilt, and the smile falls from Chloe's face. Oh, this is actually terribly upsetting to her, she realizes, and is suddenly uncertain in what to say.

 

At her right, Dan laughs, completely unamused and 100% hysterical. "At least you haven't been an asshole whose been antagonizing the Devil for years."

 

"He's deserved it some of the time," Chloe reminds him. Linda nods in agreement.

 

This goes unheeded. Ella gestures at the air, brows tightening together as something comes into her mind. "Wait. Wait. Waitwaitwait, so, Amenadiel is Lucifer's brother, and Lucifer is the Devil, so that makes him...an angel. Right?" Linda nods, and Ella falls back on the couch with a frustrated groan, arm falling over her face.

 

Trixie, who's migrated to sit on Maze's knee, bolts upright and breaks into a grin that's wide and delighted in the way that only is manifested when she's figured out something without any help. "Hey!" she calls, to get everyone's attention, and once she has it looks Linda right in her face. "If that's true, then you had sex with an angel! 'Cuz Amenadiel is Charlie's dad, right?"

 

"Trixie!" Chloe scolds, frowning, but upon looking to Dan to get backup on disciplining their child she only finds him staring blankly at the infant mouthing at her t-shirt in her arms. Ella's doing the same, mouth hanging open outright. 

 

Linda takes a small breath, very obviously steeling herself, before confirming her daughter with, "Yes, honey, that's right."

 

"I _knew_ it," Trixie whispers, pumping her fist at her own clever intuition. Maze bursts into an honest-to-God belly laugh. Chloe decides against making the correction that Linda's celestial body count is two angels, not one, lest the information make her family's freak out all the worse.

 

A small, hidden smile quirks up on her lips. If Lucifer knew that her ten-year-old had essentially declared that Linda had had sex with his brother in front of a bunch of adults, she bet he'd find it absolutely fucking hilarious.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, folks. This baby is hella unbeta'd.


End file.
